IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT
As she lay in the shelter of her hiding-place, her grief so subdued
that only a sigh once in a while escaped her, Alison heard a rustling
in the thicket. Who could have discovered her lair? Neal had cut away
for her the thick tangle of vine, bush, and thorn, the undergrowth
which made up the chaparral, and she had called it her fortress. Only
Neal and herself knew the way to it, for the path was cleverly cleared
beyond a group of trees standing by the road, and one must needs climb
one of the trees and drop from a lower limb before the spot could
be reached. Alison started to her feet at sound of the intruder. It
might be a prowling coyote or other woods creature, for evening was
approaching when the wild things of the forest were bolder. But it was
nothing wilder than Lolita who had found her out and who smiled at her
over the top of the thicket saying caressingly: “Pobrecita! Ella no es
feliz. You make a cry?” she asked hesitatingly.
Alison shook her head but Lolita pointed to her own eye and nodded
emphatically. “The weep, I see him,” she said.
At this Alison smiled. The broken English of Pedro always entertained
her and Lolita’s was even more amusing. “No mas,” she said, drawing on
her own small stock of Spanish.
Lolita nodded understandingly. “Is go the broth’r,” she said. “Is make
you the weep. Si, si. I come for look you. So long is go you.”
“I believe I have been here a good while,” Alison returned. “I suppose
Christine wonders what has become of me. I shouldn’t have left her all
this time. Lolita, no tell--no say you of this place---- Oh, dear,
how can I make her understand she is not to say anything about it. I
wouldn’t have any one find my hiding-place for the world. I wonder what
secret is in Spanish. I’ll risk _secreto_; it sounds as if it might
be right.” She pointed to the small cleared space in the midst of the
chaparral. “Mi secreto,” she said.
Lolita nodded, smiling assurance, and poured forth a speech not a word
of which Alison understood. “I suppose she means she will not tell.”
Then by pointing to her lips, shaking her head and repeating: “Mi
secreto,” she gained in response significant gestures which satisfied
her that Lolita understood perfectly, and that nothing would induce her
to reveal the secret. “I’ll have to learn Spanish; that’s all there
is about it, or I shall never be able to get along. To be sure Pedro
understands me pretty well and can get off a sort of talk which I can
partly translate, but I’d better pitch in and study. I’ve no doubt
that John has some sort of Spanish books in the house; I’ll look them
up and meantime I will learn all I can from Lolita and Pedro. Christine
cannot say I am not improving my opportunities.” She smiled brightly
at Lolita, and the two went together to the house, each trying to make
the other comprehend, and such a funny business did this appear to be,
that by the time they reached the door, they were both laughing in the
happy, foolish way characteristic of young things like themselves.
At the house the two parted. Alison was surprised to find Christine
perfectly calm, going about her evening duties. She looked at Alison
keenly and the traces of tears did not escape her notice, though she
made no sign. She could not forget Neal’s words: “You’re the oldest;
you owe it to that little sister of yours to brace up and get through
this with all the courage that’s in you.” To be sure, she argued to
herself, Neal Jordan had no right to inform her as to her duty, but she
could not forget what he had said. It struck her the more forcibly as
she realized that Alison had crept off alone to make her moan, and that
she was a brave little lass who did not flinch when trouble came, and
who did not ask any one to bear it with her. “I must not let that child
outdo me,” Christine told herself. “I must get together all the courage
that’s in me.” So she looked up smiling and said: “Guess what we are
going to have for supper?”
“What?” Alison paused and sniffed the odors coming from the kitchen,
then started for that room.
Christine caught her. “No, it’s a surprise.”
“I smell them. Flapjacks.”
“And what else?” Christine wheeled her round and displayed a plate of
fruit cake and a dish of preserved figs prepared after the fashion of
the country.
“Where did you get them?” asked Alison. “What a feast we shall have.”
“I brought the cake from home, I have saved it all this time, and the
figs Lolita presented to us. I thought this evening we needed something
to ’liven us up and so I unsealed my stone crock of cake and Louisa
offered to make the flapjacks.” Christine refrained from asking Alison
anything concerning her afternoon, and they ate their little feast,
each the stronger because of helping the other to face the sacrifice
which John’s going meant.
Matters went on quietly for a week after this. Alison improved the
opportunity to increase her knowledge of Spanish, while Lolita’s
English was added to in like proportion. This mutual desire to learn
brought the two younger girls often together, and as Lolita had her own
duties to perform Alison sometimes offered to help, that the little
Mexican might be free to run out of doors with her. They were so
great a contrast that Christine smiled to see them together; Alison
tall, fair-haired, blue-eyed, white of skin, slight of figure; Lolita
scarce up to Alison’s shoulder, her long dark tresses reaching below
her waist, her melting brown eyes fringed by long lashes, her skin pale
and colorless, her little figure already rounded and plump as that of
a more mature person. That Alison should run wild with the daughter
of a Greaser whose life had been spent in a mud adobe, would hardly
have been countenanced by Aunt Miranda Brown, and, indeed, it was
probable that it would not have been approved by John and his friend
Neal Jordan, though the latter was hail-fellow-well-met with every
newcomer in the county. But, democratic though he was, Neal Jordan
possessed the pride of his Southern ancestors and while the daughter
of the old Mexican wagoner might be his partner at a fandango he would
have discountenanced her intimate friendship with the sister of his
friend, Texas John. Alison, however, had no brother and no Neal at
hand to criticise, and while the Spanish she acquired was hardly pure
Castilian, the vocabulary was such as would serve her well in Texas and
she enjoyed learning from Lolita other things besides words. She would
squat down by her side and help her prepare tortillas and frijoles for
Pedro’s dinner; she learned how to drape a reboso gracefully around
her, how to ride a Texas mustang, while various other accomplishments
were added to her list. She found time to practice at the round white
mark Neal had made upon the fence, and the crack of her rifle was heard
daily. Christine and Louisa, too, joined in the target practice, but
as neither was enthusiastic in preparing food _à la Mexicaine_ they
were perfectly willing that Alison should carry off the honors in that
direction.
“There,” said Alison, one day as the girls stood together practicing
at the mark, “that’s the best shot yet. I’d like Neal to see that, and
I don’t believe he could beat it. Let me have the pistol, Tina, and
see if I can do as well with that.” She fired again but this time went
wide of the mark. “If that had been an Indian I should only have winged
him,” she remarked, “though with the rifle I should have pierced his
heart.”
“You bloodthirsty little creature,” cried Christine. “I wonder how you
would feel if you actually saw one dead at your feet from a shot of
yours.”
“I don’t know; it would depend upon the aggravation,” returned Alison.
“Ugh! I don’t like to think of Indians. I hope I shall never see many.
I’ll race you to the house, Lou, and carry the rifle in the bargain.
Double-quick, now.” She started the pace and arrived breathless, Louisa
close at her heels and Christine following more sedately.
“There’s one thing,” said Alison, as she hung up the rifle, “we’ll
know how to use these things if ever we need to. Ah, there comes Pedro
with some honey; he said he had found a tree.” The queer double gourd
which Pedro carried was indeed a receptacle for the honey he had
found. Nothing was too good for Alison who had shown such kindness to
his daughter, and every day came some new offering. Strange uneatable
things sometimes they were, but Alison always accepted them graciously
and when she could not eat the, to her, unpalatable cakes made of
flour, lard and molasses, she fed them to the pigs and Pedro was never
the wiser. On this occasion the honey was very acceptable and served as
a fine accompaniment to Louisa’s hot biscuits.
Whether it was because of a too great indulgence in these delicacies,
or whether it was that she had worked herself up into a state of
nervousness by fancying what she really would do if attacked by
Indians, certain it was that Alison did not sleep well that night.
More than once she turned on her pillow and listened to Christine’s
quiet breathing, wishing she too, were sleeping soundly. Every noise
seemed exaggerated. Twice she sat up in bed believing she heard
something on the roof. A third time she was convinced that there was
an unusual commotion among the horses in the stable. Surely it was no
fancy. She crept softly from the bed and stole to the window which
looked towards the outbuildings. The night was moonless, but by the
light of the stars she could distinguish moving forms about the stable
door. She hesitated a moment, groped her way towards the bed, paused a
second, deciding not to awaken her sister, then she hastily felt for
her clothes, slipped into her frock and tiptoed from the room to the
adjoining one where Louisa slept.
At the whispered word: “Louisa!” the girl sprang up. “What’s the
matter?” she asked. “Anybody sick?”
“Sh!” returned Alison. “I don’t want to wake Tina, but I believe there
are horse thieves down at the stable. Do you dare go with me?”
“Go where?”
“I’ll show you. I think we can hide and maybe can scare them off.”
Louisa was not one to stand at anything, so she slipped out of bed, got
into her clothes and the two went stealthily down the stairs. Alison
reached for the long rifle. Louisa possessed herself of two pistols.
Alison led the way, creeping along in the shadows, her dark-blue gown
rendering her inconspicuous enough to prevent her being observed by
any one on the watch. The night was mild and quiet. Overhead the stars
shone brightly. A hundred odors arose from the masses of prairie
flowers. The night breeze in the trees, the distant plash of the river,
the bark of a coyote, the screech of an owl, once in a while the wild
note of a mocking-bird, these were all the sounds distinguishable, as
the two girls stole to the clump of trees at the edge of the chaparral.
“They’ll have to pass down the road,” whispered Alison as they came to
a halt under the trees. “If they have Hero I shall surely fire. Do you
suppose it is Indians?”
“Laws, I hope not,” whispered Louisa.
“Can you climb this tree? Out to that furthest limb?” asked Alison.
“I should hope so,” returned Louisa.
Alison crept along the extended limb and suddenly dropped from it to
the ground. Louisa, in good faith, imitated her movement, though it
would seem to the uninitiated as if only a tangle of thorn and brier
were below to receive them. However, Alison knew her way well, and
presently they were hidden in the depth of the thicket, kneeling on the
ground and peeping through the screen of leaf and bramble.
At some distance away the group of buildings loomed up darkly under the
starry heavens; first the house and its nearer outbuildings, hen-house,
meat-house, corn-crib and wood-shed; a little beyond these stood the
stable. The girls heard the tramping of the horses and saw dark figures
moving stealthily. There were apparently only two or three persons.
Alison’s heart beat fast. She felt very sure that this hiding-place of
hers would not be discovered, that a fire directed from this point of
vantage would surprise the intruders and, unless they were in large
enough numbers to assume the offensive, that she and Louisa might
well expect to frighten them off. She knew that Hero was the most
valuable of the horses and was Christine’s especial pet; the fact of
his belonging to Stephen gave him so large a claim upon her affections
that if he were taken she would be inconsolable, therefore Alison was
determined to rescue him at all hazards. The others she would be sorry
to lose, but they were less valuable. She hoped that Christine would
not awaken, for if she gave the alarm and directed the men’s attention
to the house where she was alone it might be the worse for her, since
a desperado would stand at nothing. The country was full of such men
who lost no opportunity of securing plunder whenever chance afforded,
and who would not hesitate to commit murder when thwarted. Dreadful
possibilities crowded to Alison’s mind as she crouched in the dew-laden
thicket by Louisa’s side. She regretted her sudden resolve in leaving
the house and shivered, not from the chill of the night air, but from a
sharp alarm.
“Skeered?” whispered Louisa.
“No, not exactly,” Alison returned. “I was thinking of Tina; if she
should wake up; if they were to go to the house and find her alone.”
“Sh!” Louisa appreciated the situation, but her courage was high. “I
don’t believe they want anything but the horses and they ain’t got an
idea of going to the house.” She kept her eyes fixed upon the stable
from which now came three mounted horsemen. Each of the two foremost
men led two horses and the third had Hero in charge. Alison set her
teeth hard as the first two men passed beyond the clump of trees, and
just here, as luck would have it, the last of the three fell a little
behind the others on account of Hero’s sudden swerving. Did he detect
the presence of his friends hidden in the thicket, that he plunged and
pranced at such a rate? At all events his behavior called down growling
curses from the man who led him.
“It is Hero,” whispered Alison. “He shall not be taken.” And with this
one thought in her mind she raised her rifle and fired. Louisa, too,
discharged first one pistol and then the other, aiming at nothing in
particular, for at Alison’s shot the man reeled from his saddle and
fell to the ground. Hero promptly cantered back to his stable. The men
in advance, hearing the reports, cast a quick look behind them, spurred
on their horses and escaped, leaving their companion to his fate.
After having used up all their ammunition the two girls waited a while
to see if the coast was clear, and then they left their hiding-place,
swung themselves upon the low-hanging tree and made their way back
trembling with excitement, and dreading to see what lay so still by the
roadside.
The noise of the firing had aroused both Christine and Pedro. The
former in an agony of fright awoke to find Alison gone from her side
and Louisa’s room vacant. Without waiting to do more than throw
something around her, she rushed down-stairs to meet Pedro in a frenzy
of alarm for herself and Alison. He poured forth question after
question in broken English which Christine could not understand, and as
she began with counter questions up came Alison and Louisa. Christine
grabbed her sister. “Where have you been? What have you been doing?”
she asked.
“Killing a man, I reckon,” returned Alison leaning her rifle against
the side of the house. “He’s down there in the road, but we have saved
Hero.”
“For pity’s sake, Alison, what do you mean?” said Christine with
shaking voice.
“I mean just what I say. I was awake and thought I heard a noise among
the horses, so I got up and looked out and I saw two or three men down
by the stable. I waked Lou and we went down. I didn’t think about its
not being right to leave you alone, and I didn’t really mean to kill
anybody. I thought maybe if we fired at the thieves they would think we
were a lot of men and would go off. There were only two or three, you
see, but when I found they had Hero I got excited and fired right at
the man--and--and the man--the man dropped.” She burst into tears and
flung herself into Christine’s arms sobbing wildly.
“You poor child! you poor child!” murmured Christine. “Have they gone
off, Louisa? All the rest of them?”
“Yes’m, I think so. They made quick tracks as soon as they heard them
shots. I kind of fired wild, and didn’t hit anybody, but Allie’s gun
did the damage.”
“Did you wait to see if the man was really killed?”
“No, Allie was so anxious about you and was skeered to go near that
ornery crittur.”
“We must go out and see to him,” said Christine. “Light the lantern,
Louisa. You stay here, Alison.”
“No, no, I must go too.”
“But, dear child----”
“Never mind. I did it, and I must take the consequences. I don’t
suppose I’ll be hanged for it, but oh, I would almost as soon be. I
want to know as soon as I can if he is really killed.” Therefore the
little company, headed by Pedro, went down the road to where they
distinguished a dark horse quietly cropping the grass, his master lying
motionless on the ground near him.
Pedro knelt down and put his hand on the man’s breast. “No is daid,” he
said.
“I am so thankful, I am so thankful,” whispered Alison.
“Can we get him to the house, do you think?” said Christine.
He was not a large man and by their united efforts they were able to
bear him to a room below stairs. By the dim light and because of the
blood stains upon his face it was not easy to determine his age nor
to distinguish his features. At sight of the thin stream which slowly
trickled from his forehead Alison shuddered.
“I think you’d better see what has become of Hero, Pedro,” said
Christine. “We don’t want him to get away after all this effort to save
him. I think we can manage very well to attend to this man. I do not
believe he is wounded so very badly. He is stunned, but I don’t think
the bullet did more than graze his forehead.”
Pedro promised to see that the horse was safe and to return
immediately. The three girls then gave their whole attention to the
man, whom Louisa insisted upon tying hand and foot. “He might be
playing ’possum,” she said, “and while Pedro is gone he might try
to get away. It’s best to be on the safe side. I’m glad he ain’t a
redskin,” she added as she wiped the stains from his face and clothing
and bound up his head. “I suppose a horse thief is bad enough, but
somehow I don’t mind ’em as much as Injuns. He’s coming ’round, Miss
Tina.”
The man opened his eyes and uttered an ugly word. “Who are ye and what
are ye doing with me?” he asked looking from one to another.
“We are the people you were stealing horses from when you got shot for
it,” said Louisa with a sturdy bluntness.
The man’s brows contracted, whether from pain or anger Louisa could not
determine.
“Where’s the fool that shot me?” the man asked.
“Where are you, Alison?” said Louisa with a broad smile.
Alison came forward with a questioning look. “Do you want me?”
“Yes, he wants to look at you.”
“That? That little squeak of a gal? You’re giving me something I can’t
swaller,” said the man.
“All the same she’s the one. I know I didn’t do it, for there ain’t a
pistol wound on ye. The rifle shot struck you and sorter stunned ye
more than it killed ye, and ye just natchelly dropped. We’ve got your
horse and our best one, and when you’re able you can get it back, if
the boys’ll let ye.”
“There, Louisa, there,” remonstrated Christine. “Wait till he is
better.”
“Oh, fire away. I don’t like soft solder, and I rather like her sass.
As long as I’m not kilt I kin light out and make tracks for home, I
reckon.”
“You kin, but you won’t,” said Louisa. “I reckon you’ll find you’re not
as strong as ye think, and moreover if you try to git away there’ll be
somebody outside to put a bullet in ye that’ll do better work than
Allie’s. We don’t let horse thieves git away so easy as all that.”
“Hush, Louisa,” came peremptorily from Christine.
“He might as well have the truth. They’ll hang him as high as Haman and
you know it,” said Louisa stoutly.
“Well, but do wait till he is better.”
“Oh, he’s all right. His head aches, maybe, but he’ll git over that by
the time they are through with him.”
“Louisa, you are perfectly heartless.”
“Where was his heart when he came stealing Hero? See here, Mr. Man,
whoever you are, you keep yourself quiet. You can’t get away. Every one
of us is a good shot, so you’d better make up your mind to take it easy
while you can. If you want to go to sleep, we’ll watch. If you try to
escape you know what’s waiting for ye. Now make the best of it.” She
took a station not far from him, grimly holding a pistol. Pedro had
returned and was on guard in the gallery. Christine and Alison snuggled
together in a corner. In a half hour the prisoner was sleeping quietly.
Louisa, wide awake, kept a ceaseless watch.